Slytherinification:The Tournament
by Warlord1096
Summary: A boy.Lost for years.A tournament.Restarted after years.A Dark Lord.Thought dead for years. Tasks, Dragons, Dances, Veela...it's going to be a heck of a roller coaster ride.Only this time, it's painted green and silver.The essential Slytherin!Harry fic. Suffering, Lies, and cause you must pass through the fire before you are worthy.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: When Liam Carpenter began his fourth year at Hogwarts, he didn't expect to be participating in a legendary tournament, not least one that would be modified to be even more dangerous. He certainly didn't expect people to find out that he was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. And he _did_ expect that he would walk the path to greatness alone, however much it hurt, but he did _not_ factor in a little sister who's determined to knock some sense into him, and who is _too_ hyperactive for her own good...**

**When Albus Dumbledore took up the Elder Wand so many years ago, he thought that he'd finally be able to change the world, for the better. Yet, nearly fifty years after he defeated Grindelwald, he found himself at the helm of a country which never managed to recover from a War, a country riddled with prejudice and corruption. But the Wand tells him different, never mind that he knows that it's eating away at his psyche...**

**Darkness looms over the horizon as the prelude to the Second Wizarding War begins, a tale filled with betrayal, lies, drama, anger and pain. Will Harry, in his misguided belief that he is truly alone, fall to the same darkness that had taken the Dark Lord so many years ago, or will Dumbledore fall prey to the seduction of the Deathstick first, despite his best attempts at resistance?**

**Magic, Rituals, Secrets, Weapons, Discoveries, Creatures, and worst of all...the prospect of a date to the Yule Ball. Welcome to the world of Harry Potter.**

**October 31****st****, 1994**

"So, who do you think it'll be?" asked Ron Weasley, as he and his two best friends, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom, made his way up the grounds to the Great Hall where the Choosing of the Champions would occur.

"Well, I hope it's Angelina," said Hermione, "I'd at least like for a Gryffindor to have a chance."

"Oh come off it, Hermione!" scoffed Ron, "as long as Viktor Krum is participating, nobody else stands a chance!"

"Just because he's a brilliant athlete doesn't mean that he has a chance to win this tournament, Ronald! It doesn't even mean he'll get chosen!"

Neville rolled his eyes as the two of them began arguing, as was their norm. Sighing, he withdrew into himself, wishing his two best friends would finally realise the truth and snog each others' brains out...

Spying a lone figure sitting outside on the bench in the Entrance Courtyard, he squinted to make out who it was.

He hestitated as he recognized the black hair and distinctive green eyes, even from a distance. Maybe he should leave her alone, especially today.

His thoughts took on a different track altogether, as he thought of the significance of Halloween for the British Wizarding Community, ever since the end of the Wizarding War. Young Harry Potter had somehow stopped the darkest wizard in several millennia, and freed Britain from one of the worst reign of terrors it had suffered through. Neville shuddered as he thought back to the stories he'd heard, when his father would sometimes get lost in thought and think back to those days.

In fact, he was certain his father would be targeted if Lily and James Potter hadn't survived that night somehow, and hastened to warn them about impending Death Eater attacks. Even now he sometimes feared that his parents, both Aurors, would find themselves on the wrong end of the wands of one of their enemies from the war, perhaps Bellatrix Lestrange or her family...

No, he shook his head, it wasn't proper to have such thoughts.

"Hey, Neville," he heard her say, and he realised, that lost in his own thoughts, he'd somehow meandered over to her. As always, he felt the familiar twinge in her stomach as he beheld her pretty face and those intense green eyes.

"Hello, Amy," he said, "not going to the Feast?"

"I will, in a moment," she replied gloomily. "Mum and Dad are here as well, and you know what they're like today..."

He gave a nod, that was all he could really do. One of the greatest mysteries besides Harry Potter's defeat of the Dark Lord, was _where_ Harry Potter was now.

On his eleventh birthday, the Wizarding world had waited with baited breath to be re-acquainted with their saviour. He had been kept largely out of the public eye by his parents, and both him and his little sister, Amaryllis Potter, had grown up sheltered and sequestered. But on the 31st of July, 1991, the Potters had come up with terrible news...Harry Potter had vanished.

Searches had been conducted all over the country, investigations launched, but to no avail. Their Saviour was gone, vanished. There were rumours, of course, that he'd been sent to live with the Potters' Muggle relatives, from where he'd vanished, but there was no evidence to point to that. The entire circumstances surrounding his disappearance were shady.

Only Neville's family, and a select others, knew the true story behind his disappearance. Harry Potter _had_ been sent to live with Lily's sister and her family, the Dursleys, for his own protection. Only he had never returned, never been seen again. Petunia had firmly maintained that Harry, who was a no-good child anyway, had run away of his own will even after the kindness she and her husband had shown him.

And so Harry Potter was lost to the world forever, and every Halloween, the Wizarding World would raise their glasses and toast the Boy-Who-Lived, who later became the Boy-Who-Vanished.

There had of course been rumours of sightings, and the Potters had pounced upon them, but they were all false trails. Harry Potter was gone for good.

He couldn't blame Amy for being gloomy, she would never get to know her brother, as she should. Being an only child himself, Neville could sympathise with her loneliness. Looking forward to finally getting to know the one person you could share all your secrets and joy and sadness with, and then knowing that he had vanished forever – he couldn't imagine it to be too nice a feeling.

So lost was he in his thoughts once more, that he barely noticed as Amy, lost in her own thoughts, fell into step beside him, as they went into the Great Hall together, and took their seats at the Gryffindor table together.

Looking around, he saw his own father and mother, who smiled gently at him. The Hall had been expanded magically, somehow, he reasoned, so that the family and guardians of students could sit at the extra couple of tables set for them – Dumbledore's work, no doubt. Next to them, his Godparents, the Potters, weren't looking to well, their eyes red and puffy. The same went for Sirius Black, who had been Harry's godfather, and just about resembled a kicked puppy. Remus Lupin, their other friend, wasn't in attendance.

The adults definitely looked worse for the wear. Ever since Peter Pettigrew's escape from Azkaban, all Aurors had started a massive manhunt to locate the infamous traitor who had sold the Potter's out to the Dark Lord.

He shifted slightly, as Ginny Weasley made her way up to them and took a seat next to her best friend, Amy. The girl had been involved in the Chamber of Secrets scandal his second year, and Amy and she had become best friends following that. Of course, she was extremely tight lipped about the entire incident, claiming her memory failed in certain parts of the story. From what he could glean, though, it wasn't a very nice experience, and Ron would still go white and break whatever he was holding if it was ever brought up.

He suddenly caught snatches of their conversation, his ears perking up.

"It's been three years since he's vanished," Amy was saying. "Mum and Dad managed to get a one-month extension on the search, but that's all the Minister allowed. He's going to be declared officially dead tomorrow."

For a second, he was struck by how dispassionate she sounded, even as he tried to pretend he wasn't eavesdropping, but then he realised that that was simply the way she was, a fiercely private person. They'd been friends as long as he could remember, and she had always been this way. Besides, she'd never really met her own brother, and all she could do was form an image of him from the stories she'd heard and read (most of which were highly exaggerated).

"He's going to be declared officially dead tomorrow night, Nev," he jerked as he heard her speak. "And yes, I know you're listening –"

"W-what?" he stuttered.

"Oh come on," she said, "we've been friends, what, 11 years now? You think I'd know better by now?"

Behind her, Ginny rolled her eyes. For all their friendship, Amy was as blind as a bat, absolutely oblivious of Neville's feelings for her. On the other hand, he did manage to hide them better than her idiot brother.

"Let's just enjoy the feast and the ceremony, shall we?" he suggested innocently, making a weak attempt to change the subject.

"I suppose," said Amy. "I do hope Cedric Diggory gets selected, he's positively scrummy..."

As the food appeared before them, made more exotic thanks to the large number of foreigners present, Neville stabbed his fork into his food a bit more forcefully than necessary.

Making his way through a hearty dinner, he couldn't help but feel for the Potters. Tomorrow, they'd have to face the harsh truth that their eldest son and heir was dead, once and for all.

_Unless the boy-who-vanished somehow turns up from nowhere within the next 24 hours..._he snorted, that'd be the day.

At that precise moment, the doors to the Great Hall were opened, and he looked up to see Liam Carpenter stumble into the hall, his hair all over the place as usual, glasses askew. Sniggering spread all over the Hall as he made his way over to his house table, his fingertips smattered with ink, and a generous portion of it on his nose.

Up on the Head Table, Professor Snape did not look to happy with his House student.

Liam, to put it simply, was the outcast of the school. A self-proclaimed Muggleborn in Slytherin (the first in several years), he was vindicated and tortured by his own housemates, and shunned by the rest of the school thanks to his house colours. He could always be seen in the library, studying all by himself, but his grades were extremely average, exactly at the middle of the class. There was nothing special about him, yet as time went past, people began to bother him less and less, and just leave him alone.

Even so, there was something strange about the boy. He seemed to welcome his solitude, keeping quiet and answering only when called upon in class, and even then, his answers would be concise, to the point, and more often than not, matching word to word from the textbook, with no input of his own. It was as if he was almost trying to fit in, trying his best to be completely average. Yet at the same time, he seemed to be almost uncomfortable in his own skin.

He snorted a bit into his food – listen to him, sounding so paranoid. He might just make an Auror yet, like his parents, even though his heart really lay elsewhere...

Liam took his usual spot at the Slytherin Table, away from his housemates, muttering a quick '_Tergeo_' to siphon the ink off. He dived for the pudding, his head still throbbing from the dream he'd just experienced, and couldn't make any sense of. Who among all the people in the Great Hall could be Voldemort's (and how on Earth was he still alive?) spy, and why would Voldemort even need a spy in Hogwarts? And most importantly, he had a sinking feeling just who Voldemort wanted to trap in his plans.

Sadly, the food vanished just as he got his hands on it, leaving the Snakes around him snorting. Ignoring the laughter, and the pangs of his stomach, he turned around to face Dumbledore, who was getting to his feet as well.

He could feel his anticipation rising, however, as Filch carried the casket into the halls, knowing that he was in for an exciting night and an exciting year. He'd get to see some amazing magic this year...

Even so, he was still thinking hard.

_It's someone close to Dumbledore, someone he'd trust. Someone with access to a disguise all the time._

His stomach seemed to drop out as his eyes fell on Mad-Eye Moody, who took out his hip flask and took a drink, shuddering horribly as he did so.

_Holy shit. Polyjuice Potion._

He felt rooted to his seat, knowing that one of Voldemort's servants was in the room this very moment, and he could do nothing about it. Was it Peter Pettigrew, he wondered. But no, Peter had been in the room with Voldemort, and unless there was some magic that enabled Peter to split himself into several pieces, it couldn't be him here.

He'd have to talk to Dumbledore as soon as possible, but right then, all he could do was sit and watch. If he was correct, things would go pear shaped very, very fast for one Harry Potter.

Harry Potter, who'd been abused and neglected by his Muggle relatives. Who'd found out that he'd been deserted by his parents. Who'd run away from home at the age of eight. Who'd been practising magic ever since he'd come across a group of Goblin Miners near Devon, even though it was not of the Wizard type. Who held the distinction of being the first goblin-friend in 500 years, the only person after Nicholas Flamel. Who was sitting in the Hall at that very moment, unseen by his own traitorous family (who would abandon their own child?), courtesy a disguise set up by Ragnok himself.

He watched as the flames in the Goblet turned red, and in quick succession, spat out the names of Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour as the Champions for the visiting schools.

He watched as the flames reddened again, before throwing out another scrap of paper.

"The Champion for Hogwarts is..." Liam's stomach tightened, "Cedric Diggory!"

He gave a sigh of relief as he clapped along with the others. Maybe, for once, things were turning out his way. His mind was already on the stash of chocolate frogs he had under his bed, that would help soothe his aching stomach.

"Excellent!" cried Dumbledore happily. "I am sure I can –"

But Dumbledore had stopped speaking suddenly, and it was clear to the entire Hall why he had done so. Liam's stomach seemed to drop out in fear.

All eyes were on the Goblet, which had somehow turned red again, and was spitting out sparks. A long flame shot out, borne on it, a piece of parchment, and Dumbledore caught it deftly in his hand.

The silence was palpable as blank shock flitted across Dumbledore's face, an expression not many could boast of witnessing. It was a while before he spoke the name that was written on the paper.

"H – Harry Potter."

If anything, the silence seemed to intensify, solidifying like ice in winter, before it was broken by a strangled gasp from Lily Potter, who was on her feet, eyes wild.

And suddenly, there was uproar in the hall, people shouting, questioning. Neville felt his own head reeling, until –

"SILENCE!" yelled Dumbledore, and all at once, quiet descended in the room.

"Bartemius," he addressed Mr. Crouch, "what does this mean?"

"I am as stumped as you are, Albus," replied Crouch, "but one thing is certain, Harry Potter, wherever he is, if he put his name in, he must participate, else he will suffer terrible punishments –"

Nobody noticed Liam's eyebrows shoot up, as his face took on a resigned look.

" – That is, if he is still alive."

There was a choked sob, and Lily Potter was in a duelling stance, wand in hand. "How dare you?" she screamed. "What are you trying to say, my son-"

"Lily, calm down!" said Dumbledore, even as James Potter tried to calm his wife down, the shock still apparent on his face. Amaryllis Potter left her seat and joined her family, as shocked at this turn of events as anyone else in the room.

Liam couldn't help but sneer at the sight of the Potter family, seeming so perfect at that moment of shared grief...oh, he knew otherwise...

"Harry Potter," called out Dumbledore again to the room at large, as if he wasn't expecting a reply.

"What is the meaning of this, Dumbledore?" asked Karkaroff. "No offence to the charming Lady Potter, but Harry Potter is lost to the Wizarding World, has been for years now!" Next to him, Madam Maxime nodded her agreement, as the students watched the unfolding drama, whispering amongst themselves. The Champions, who had been standing on a podium in the hall, were just as confused as everyone else, not really understanding that they had a new competitor, in the light of this new revelation.

"Then he must be found, Igor," replied the Headmaster, looking every bit his age. "The Goblet wouldn't register the name of a dead person, so that must mean that he is alive, and somewhere out there..."

There was another gasp from the Potter family, as shock, and then hope filled their faces.

"Harry Potter," said Dumbledore again, "if you are amongst us, I would ask you to come up to the front now." Receiving no answer, even as the Hall silenced in anticipation, he turned back. "We must restart the searches-" he began.

The sound of feet hitting the floor seemed to echo through the entire Chamber. Shocked, the Headmaster turned around, and like all the inhabitants of the Great Hall, he was stunned to see the activity coming from the end of the Slytherin table, which was normally reserved for...

Liam Carpenter stood up, an expression of utmost resignation on his face. Pulling his wand out of his robes, he muttered something illegible, and the entire Hall watched, transfixed, as his countenance changed. Gasps rang out in the hall as they looked upon the face of their Hero once again.

His jaw became squarer, even as he filled out a bit, gaining a few inches in height as well. His round glasses, so similar to the one James Potter wore, seemed to sit perfectly on his face. Dark brown hair turned absolutely jet black, looking as messed up as an uncontrollable bedhead. Lastly, brown eyes changed to a stunning green, almost luminous in their intensity, shining brightly behind round frames. The bored look which Liam Carpenter could never really pull off, looked perfect on him, and would cause several girls to stay up late at night, gossiping about him.

"Well, I'm back," he said, half shrugging, out to the absolute silence in the Great Hall. The Muggleborns caught on to the Lord of the Rings reference, but were too shocked to comment, even the first years who'd heard of the Legend of Harry Potter.

A split second's silence, as everyone took in the slender young man before them, staring at them with piercing, hypnotic almond-shaped green eyes, and then there was uproar.

"Well, what do you know?" asked Amaryllis to no one in general. "My brother decided to turn up after all!"

**Author's Note: Well, as the title suggests, this is obviously a Slytherinised, non-canon version of one of my favourite HP books, the Goblet of Fire. I'll be updating this when I feel like it, or when inspiration strikes, so no pressure there. Chapters, will of course, be smaller, since this is a casual venture, even though it may even turn out to be more popular than my other works (shameless plug: Go check them out).**

**Speaking of which...ah, erm...my laptop crashed, meaning all my work on The Legend of Harry Potter has been lost. Updates just got slower. Maybe erratic ones in this story will sate your thirst for Fanfiction for now. I apologise, and believe me, I took the news pretty hard myself.**

**And yes, Powerful Harry, as always, and I'm going to enjoy writing this. The three tasks will feature, but there will be more. Ciao for now, keep an eye out for this. And review.**

**Pairings undecided. I'm thinking Harry/Minerva/Umbridge/Pomfrey/Bathilda Bagshot/Auntie Muriel.**

**No, I'm just kidding. Did you all just throw up a bit in your mouths like me?**

**This'll mostly be Harry-centric, so nothing yet.**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

There was uproar around the hall. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Boy-Who-Vanished, was alive and kicking, and in the Great Hall at that very moment. Rita Skeeter, sitting in one corner of the room was itching to get her hands on the handsome young hero, to try and dish out a story about his unknown, and undoubtedly dark past.

After all, he was a Slytherin, wasn't he?

And that was a fact that the people in the hall seemed to be registering just then. Their saviour, as famous as Merlin himself, was a Snake. The uproar died down as people hit on this rather unfortunate fact, and whispers, whispers of shock, outrage and even disgust broke out in the Hall.

Harry smirked as he picked up even some fearful whispers of another Dark Lord in the making.

_Good_, he thought. _Fear is good_.

The Potters, on the other hand, still seemed to be frozen in shock, as they beheld their son, standing coolly at one end of the hall, absolutely unfazed by the madness around him.

And then it hit Lily that this was her son, her long lost son, whom she had spent so many nights crying over, wondering if she'd ever see him again.

She took off running at him so fast that it seemed like she'd left an image of herself where she stood, and then James followed at a more sedate pace...well, in comparison, anyway.

Harry clenched his teeth as he braced himself for impact, and then, he was hit by a blurred, redheaded missile.

Gritting his teeth, he tried hard not to throw his own mother out of his arms and pull his wand on her in anger.

Instead, he thought back to his conversation with his Sensei, Strongarm (an apt name, indeed), the summer before his first year, in an attempt to calm himself.

"_Harry," said the ancient goblin, as he looked down at the wizard fondly (if goblins could show any fondness for anything other than gold, "it pains me to say goodbye, but I must, for it is time that you go to Hogwarts and begin your magical education with other children your age."_

_To his credit, Harry showed little emotion as well, for that was the way of the Goblins. Instead, his eyes showed the turmoil he was undergoing. At long last, he voiced a concern that he had been harbouring for a long time..._

"_What if I meet...?" he seemed unable to complete the sentence. Every time he did so, he would feel anger rise up within him, ugly and boiling, at what they had done to him. And, in his defense, what word would he use? Parents? They had not acted like parents. Family? He had no family. Relatives? No relatives could treat him as they had done._

_Instead, he calmed himself using the meditation technique Strongarm had taught him. He thought back to his masters words, "An angry goblin is of no use to the mines. He takes out his anger on the rocks, and may miss the diamonds in his blind rage. It is the calm one who finds the treasure in the end."_

_Strongarm noticed his efforts, and was suitably pleased. "Your parents?" he asked softly. Harry's true heritage was known to all the Goblins at the mine, but they were extremely tight-lipped about it._

_Harry nodded, distaste evident on his young face._

"_Harry, I hate to tell you this, but the chance that you will meet your parents, or even reveal your true identity to them, is very, very real indeed."_

_Harry's face darkened even further, his green eyes flashing. "No, Harry," said Strongarm, "you must listen to me. Whatever anger you feel, whatever pain, you must not let it show. People will no doubt be around you, and you must not let your facade slip even once. People are always on the lookout for weaknesses, something that will help them drag you down, and to show emotion show easily before them would be to throw yourselves to the wolves!"_

"_But..."_

"_No, Harry, I must impress upon you the seriousness of this advice. You are a hero to the World, and they will look at you as one! You cannot show weakness, or anger, because then you will be stripped of all your adoration and be hated immediately by those who loved you minutes back. To the world, you must be Harry Potter, the saviour of Britain! To show anger at your parents would be to reveal the cracks in the Potter family as well, which would bring dishonour to your Family as well, which is Noble and Ancient in its origins, as it can be traced back to the time of the original Wizengamot!"_

"_What if I don't care?" asked Harry, his voice hard. "They left me, deserted me – while they were being loved and worshipped as heroes, I was locked in a cupboard, getting by on one paltry meal a day, simply because my own parents couldn't love and protect me! I should expose them before the world, show everyone what hypocrites they are!"_

"_You will not!" said Strongarm sternly, before his features softened. "I understand you are angry, young Harry, but you must not let the anger control you, because it will ultimately lead to your fall! When the time comes, or perhaps, when you are older, you will understand..."_

_Harry bent his head to show his acceptance of his Master's words, even if he didn't like them. Strongarm frowned. He could feel his student's dissatisfaction, but there was nothing more he could do. Instead, he stretched his arms out, and then curled his palms inwards, inviting Harry to attack him._

"_Come," he said, "let me see if you can defeat me yet and earn a title, like I earned mine!"_

_Harry grinned, eager for a way to vent his feelings, and immediately settled into a crouch, balancing his weight equally on both feet. He curled his hands into fist, bringing them up to protect his face._

"_Look!" he shouted suddenly, and Strongarm was momentarily distracted as he turned his head, before he lifted his arm to parry the oncoming roundhouse kick and retaliate with a punch to his student's head._

Yes,_ he thought, _this one was definitely a Slytherin.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Despite Strongarm's words of advice, all Harry could feel at that moment was extreme repulsion and anger towards the woman sobbing in his arms. How could _she_ be shedding tears, he thought, when she condemned me to a life of horror with her wizard-hating sister and her Xenophobic husband? Even so, he kept his mask on, his face absolutely expressionless. He brought his arms up, and kept them lightly around her, touching her as little as possible, his body stiff as a board.

She must have sensed something was wrong, because she looked at him as she let go, and he looked back at teary green eyes that were so like his own. She must have seen the complete apathy, or rather, hate in his eyes, because she let out a tiny gasp of horror before stumbling back into her husband's arms, who had caught up with them and was looking at his son with an expression of wonder.

"Lily?" he asked, as if almost afraid, but he was brushed aside by Dumbledore, who strode forward purposefully, his wand outstretched.

"I am sorry, ," he said, "but I must check if you are an impostor – we cannot let the Wizarding World have false hopes of the return of the Boy-Who-Lived..."

Rita Skeeter's toes almost curled with delight. Albus Dumbledore, the Hero of the 40's War, openly challenging this generations hero! Perhaps an endeavour to protect his own power and influence...? She waited eagerly for Harry's answer to the challenge, because she was absolutely sure that this _was_ indeed the Boy-Who-Vanished – call it her predatory investigative senses.

She, along with the rest of the Hall, was surprised, when Harry only laughed in return.

"Me, an impostor?" he smirked, his eyebrows raised in amusement. "I think you're looking in the wrong place, Headmaster."

_Bingo!_ Thought Harry, his eyes shifting to Moody, who had stiffened imperceptibly, before relaxing and mirroring Dumbledore, his eyes fixed on Harry, both Magical and Normal.

Harry sized him up mentally. It seemed like he was still uncomfortable in Moody's form, putting his weight more on his right foot. Since he was right handed, he would most probably fire a spell to his left, Harry's right on instinct, before shifting the spells to the right.

_Burst casting_, thought Harry.

He tensed slightly, when he looked back at Dumbledore, and felt a brush against his mind. The old man's eyes widened slightly when he encountered resistance, and Harry fought the urge to grin. The first step to master the Goblin way of fighting was to be completely detached with one's emotions.

Deciding not to call him out just yet (it wouldn't do to eliminate the Chief Warlock of Wizengamot so early), he projected an image of Moody instead, letting his suspicions wash over Dumbledore. And then, without waiting to ask, he struck.

In a flash, his wand was in his hand, and Ron Weasley was forced to swear and duck immediately when a plate flew off the Gryffindor table towards Potter. Without turning his head to see if his spell had worked, Harry tensed his legs and crouched down. Leaping to his left, his foot hit the bench as he sprung into action. Using the reactionary force to propel himself off the edge, he spun himself in midair, his leg meeting Moody's forehead with a resounding crack. Moody had just managed to get of a group of spells, which left his wand and banked sharply right, before he fell to the ground. Harry landing on his knees on Moody's chest, driving the breath out of his chest. Moody's spells hit the summoned plate with a resounding sound, before Harry caught it deftly out of midair with his left hand, and transfigured it into a sword with his wand. Before Moody could so much as breathe or clutch his head in pain, the sword was at his throat, it's sharp point tickling his Adam's Apple. Deciding to forgo the old intimidation routine, Harry chose to knock Moody out with a Stunner instead.

There was utter silence in the Hall once again, broken only by Lily Potter's sniffles.

"Mr. Potter, may I ask why you just attacked a member of staff and one of my oldest friends?" asked Dumbledore, his face a mask.

Harry gave the tiniest of grins, which was still enough to send a shiver down the spines of several people. James Potter looked on disbelievingly, unable to come to terms with the fact that his son had just attacked his mentor and ex-boss.

"'E is insane, Dumbly-dorr!" shrieked Madam Maxime. "First he cheats 'is way into ze Tournament, and now he attacks one of Britain's most respected Aurors!"

"With all due respect, Madam Maxime," said Harry, "if you would look more closely, you would find that all is not as it seems. I believe I have been framed to bring me out of hiding, by none other than the man who is currently impersonating Mad-Eye Moody!"

There were gasps and shouts of outrage around the hall, but Dumbledore silenced them with a chain of fireworks from his wand. Silence fell again, but Madam Maxime had one more question for the strange boy in front of her.

"But then, Mr. Potter, where were you all these years? And why did you go into hiding in the first place?"

She appeared affronted as Harry ignored her question completely, and her champion, Fleur Delacour, lifted her wand in outrage to punish the boy for his transgression, Boy-Who-Lived or not.

Harry was unfazed, as he methodically searched Moody, until he found what he was looking for.

"Freeze!" came a voice behind him. "Throw your wand on the ground, and raise your hands in the air! Do not attempt to apparate, or I will fire! You're under arrest for attacking an innocent civilian!" Gasps echoed around the Great Hall.

Harry rolled his eyes, but threw his wand on the floor anyway. He turned to find a tall, blonde man pointing his wand at him, along with several Aurors, even though some of them looked hesitant.

James Potter shifted guiltily, before starting to speak. "Now look he-", before he was cut off by his son.

'Actually," he said conversationally, "You can't actually apparate in and out of Hogwarts. But, since you insist..." he raised his hands, and at the same time, he inverted the hip flask in his hand, the one he had taken from Moody's pocket.

A thick, muddy concoction spattered out of the flask, soiling the floor before Harry's feet.

"C'est impossible!" exclaimed Fleur, lowering her wand, recognizing the Polyjuice Potion.

The potion in question wore of at that precise moment, and in a few seconds, shouts of outrage and shock filled the Hall as they saw a dead man appear before them. Barty Crouch Sr.'s face paled drastically, before he suddenly got up and pulled his wand. Before he could so much as blink, Dumbledore's wand was out, and Crouch was blown back to the ground, unconscious before he hit the ground.

"Ouch," said Harry, cringing theatrically. "That had to hurt."

As one, all the Heads and the Champions turned their heads towards him, eyebrows raised.

"What?" he asked innocently. "Just making an observation. Oh, and in answer to your question, Madam," said Harry, looking up to Madam Maxime, "I believe you will have to wait for the Press Conference that is sure to come..."

Rita grinned. Today was going to be a good day, indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Tournament Reinvented**

Rita Skeeter may have been eager for an interview, but that wasn't happening just yet.

"Dumbledore!" Hissed Karkaroff, "I understand that the return of the Boy-Who-Lived is a momentous occasion, and added to the unveiling of a conspiracy," he threw a look at Barty Jr., his face paling slightly, "but that does not mean that you can forget the most important matter at hand! Hogwarts has two champions, and that cannot be allowed!"

"I agree!" said Madam Maxime imperiously, "Beauxbatons weel not stand for thees, Dumbly-dorr! We must be allowed to have two participants as well!"

"I apologise, Madam Maxime, but that is impossible," said Dumbledore, frowning. "The Goblet has been extinguished, and it cannot be relit until the next Tournament –"

"In which Durmstrang will most certainly be not participating!" began Karkaroff, but he was cut off by Harry Potter. The attention of the entire hall shifted to the dark-haired fourteen year old again.

"If I may interject, Professor Dumbledore," he said, "the Goblet is still burning." His lips twitched faintly upwards, as he pointed to the wooden cup still resting on its pedestal in the centre of the hall, the blue flames still spitting up tiny sparks.

"And astute observation, indeed, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore, his face betraying no hint of any emotion. "I believe I must make myself clear – the Goblet's magic has been extinguished, and it will spend the next 4 years building it up again for the next Tournament..."

"In which we shall not be participating, like I said!" spat Karkaroff. "Mark my words, I will be reporting this to the International Confederation of Wizards, Dumbledore! This is a serious breach of contract on the part of Great Britain, and Durmstrang as Bulgaria's representative will not stand for it!"

"And we weel stand with Bulgaria!" said Madam Maxime, clearly angered as well. "If ze Goblet is not allowed to select ze participants, then you will allow us as 'eads to select who we zink best! You promised us a fair Tournament, but what you are proposing is not fair at all!"

"There is a way around it," spoke up a voice from the corner of the room. Everyone's head swivelled again to see a cloaked figure. Harry immediately recognised Algernon Croaker, head of the Unspeakables of Britain, and his mother's boss. The man was an urban legend, yet his history was completely unknown, leading up to only his OWL scores, which were phenomenal to say the least. "You know what I speak of, Albus!" Harry decided that he didn't much like his voice, the way it sounded so low and excited.

"What treachery is this, Dumbledore! You know of a way around this, and you would keep it from us!" Karkaroff was on the verge of blowing his top again, but Dumbledore interjected.

"Because that is not a proper solution, Igor. What Algernon speaks of has been banned for years – it is barbaric and uncivilized!"

"Let us 'ear what zis solution eez, and zen decide, Albus!" said Madam Maxime, imperiously.

Dumbledore sighed, and his eyes shifted towards the Goblet slightly, but Lily Potter caught the look. "Albus, you cannot be serious! I was part of the team that studied the Tournament and the Goblet, and what Croaker is speaking of was done thousands of years ago!"

"What are you talking about, Mum?" asked Amy, her eyes wide. Harry felt something shift in him when she used the term of endearment, but he kept his emotions in check, trying not to let his lip curl in condescension.

"The original Triwizard Tournament," said Dumbledore, "ignoring the murmurs and whispers that went around the Hall at his words. The one for adult wizards in ancient Greece, later made famous by Rome, still known all over the world as Gladiator fights. Brutal, gory, and only the last man standing was hailed as the winner. The champions would actively have to kill each other for glory and victory."

All the Champions looked slightly nauseous at the thought.

"It was later outlawed, and then a watered down version was started by three schools again, continuing for hundreds of hears before a long hiatus."

"'Ogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?" queried Madam Maxime, her tone sceptical. She let out an appreciative exclamation when Dumbledore nodded.

"Instead of the three wizards competing in modern history, three teams of three magicians would participate, and in the end, even the winning team would have to fight amongst themselves to find the ultimate winner. Death was accepted as the only defeat. There were six tasks, with a final decisive seventh. Those who forfeited lost their magic, and were fed to lions. For this reason, only men of great repute and extraordinary feats were selected."

The most amazing thing happened as he spoke. Almost sensing the conversation in the room, the Goblet began throwing out small smoky images as well, which expanded and then vanished in a puff of smoke, along with the sparks. Harry's eyebrows rose as he saw what distinctly looked like a levithian wipe out an entire stadium of men, the shadows it cast playing on the walls of the hall. It was an inspiring scene, he had to admit, even though it made dread pool in his stomach.

The Champions weren't the only ones who looked faintly nauseous now. "As you can see," said Dumbledore, his face grave as gruesome scenes still played on, bathing the entire Hall in a play of eerie blue light and shadows, "it is not an option, unless you would send your students to their Death for glory."

The look on the other Heads' faces showed that they agreed, but Croaker's voice interrupted again.

"There may be a way, Albus," said Croaker, "to restart the original Tournament, with certain safeguards."

"You can't be serious, Algie!" pleaded Dumbledore, letting his emotions show on his face as he faced his friends.

Black, who'd been silent all this while, finally pointed out, "You know, I hate to interrupt, but I really need to crack this joke. I _am_ Sirius. What?" he continued, unconcerned, when every eye in the Great Hall turned to him disbelievingly. "This evening has been loony enough. Don't judge me!"

"As amusing as the interruption was, Mr. Black," said Croaker, and Harry's skin crawled, even hearing the dark humour in his tone, "I have done extensive research on the spells on the Goblet, and I believe it can be modified to allow _three_ Champions per school, but the ones already chosen will have to participate."

"Well that's inconvenient for Potter, not to mention unfair," said Cedric. No one paid him any mind, but Harry looked at him for a long second. The Hufflepuff made no move to break eye contact, and Harry finally turned his head and sighed.

"Well, if push comes to shove, as it already has, I suppose there is no way around it. Surely this tournament should be fair, since it was designed to bring about international co-operation?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, quite." Said Croaker, slight irritation in his voice. He was not a man who was used to being interrupted, and it showed. "I can modify the spells, but it is the three Heads who must in the end bind the Goblet to their wishes."

Dumbledore sighed. "And how sure are you that this will work?"

"I've been Head Unspeakable for 60 years, Albus. I say it _will_ work." Said Croaker, his voice suddenly emotionless. Harry raised an eyebrow. How old was this man?

"Let us confer then, if you are willing?" asked Dumbledore, looking at the other two Heads. They inclined their heads, and excited whispers went around the Hall as they gathered together in the centre of the Hall,

James Potter approached his son this time, Lily in his arms, Amy and Sirius following them.

It was she who spoke first. "So you're my elder brother?"

Harry sighed. It seemed he'd have to make some things clear sooner than he liked. Drawing his wand, he cast a quiet _Muffliato. _Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Where'd you learn that spell?" he asked.

"Around," Harry said shortly. "And in answer to your question," he said, turning to Amy, "that depends. Would I consider your parents my family?"

Lily gasped again, and James and Sirius looked like they'd been struck across the face.

"Harry –" began James weakly, but Harry interrupted him.

"You see this?" he said, holding up his right hand. On the side of his right wrist, was a jagged cut, arcing from his vein to midway across the top of his hand. "I got this when I was eight, when I was at school. I'd been attacked by a complete stranger, someone who identified himself as Peter Pettigrew."

This time, all four of his listeners gasped. "Did you know," he continued, "that I found out about wizards when I was accidentally threw up a shield to keep my wrist from being cut off, and it was barely adequate, as you can see. I found out that I was the Boy-Who-Lived from the same person whose fault it was that Voldemort was able to give me this scar. I found out that I'd been abandoned by my parents, and forced to live with people who hated magic and everything to do with it, because my parents were alive, and not dead in a car crash as my Aunt and Uncle had told me."

"Yes, a vicious lie, isn't it?" he smirked at the look on their rapidly paling faces. "Imagine how an eight year old felt when he heard that, when he'd spent so many days in a cupboard under a staircase – that's where I lived, by the way – wishing for his parents to come and take him away. So many days I'd wished for my _loving_ parents to come take me away, and when I found out that they really existed, I lost all love and respect I had for them."

Utter silence. Complete, utter silence met his words, until Amy choked out, "You lived in a cupboard under a staircase?"

"And I went for days or even weeks without food, water and even toilet breaks whenever I did _any _magic. You see, the Dursleys wanted to force the magic out of me, beat it out of me, if need be. For all they knew, you'd saddled me with them and gone off to enjoy your lives!"

"But Dumbledore-"

"But Dumbledore nothing!" spat Harry, and suddenly he felt his anger spike. Lily felt goosebumps raise on her arms, and she cowered automatically. "Dumbledore left me on a porch step, explaining nothing, just leaving a letter saying that they had to care for me and I was a wizard! No word on anything else! You abandoned your only child at the behest of a senile old fool! I used accidental magic to apparate myself away from Pettigrew! Did you know eight year old bodies aren't made for Apparating?! I found that out the hard way!"

He took deep breaths to calm himself. "I have let go of my temper, and I apologise."

James shook his head, his eyes bright, and opened his mouth to say that he was sorry instead, but Harry cut him off. "Don't say you're sorry, don't make it worse. As far as I am concerned, my parents died when they abandoned me to Hell when I was a baby!"

Both James and Lily looked like they'd been hit with the Cruciatus. Sirius' mouth was opening and closing like a fish.

Amaryllis on the other hand, was furious. "You told me my brother would be safe!" she said, rounding on her parents, her eyes blazing. "You told me it was for his own good! Our house was never attacked all these years even though people thought Harry lived there, and yet Pettigrew could find him when he was _supposedly _in hiding!"

"Calm yourself, Amaryllis," said Harry, and she rounded on her brother instead, her ire raised at his use of her full name. "Mr. Diggory approaches, and it would be unwise of us to appear as blubbering fools before him."

Amy couldn't help but marvel at the way Harry could control his emotions so well, as he strode forward to meet Cedric.

"They've come to a decision, Harry." He said, before asking nervously, "I can call you Harry, right?"

"Only on Tuesdays," said Harry wryly, and Cedric let out a small laugh. "Is everything all right here, he asked?" taking in watery eyes all around, and in Amy's case, a flushed face.

"Of course, Cedric," said Harry, "just _emotional_ meetings after so many years."

Cedric nodded his head, while Sirius whispered to Lily and James, "Well, he's well versed in Pureblood mannerisms, all right." They had no answer, the fact was quite evident, Harry was immaculate in his behaviour in accordance to the Old Pureblood Ways.

Something that Cedric did not miss. "And you're not so emotional at meeting your parents?" he asked lightly, but his eyes betrayed the gravity of his question.

"Like I said, only on Tuesdays." Cedric nodded with a grin that did not quite reach his eyes, as though Harry's avoidance of the question was obvious to him.

"May I have your attention, please?" said Dumbledore, his wand on his throat. All the noise died down immediately, and everybody looked expectantly at him.

He sighed before continuing. "As Mr. Croaker has suggested, it seems that it is the best way forward to restart the original Tournament, albeit in a modified manner. The rules shall be changed radically, however, and the champions will be notified to the changes as soon as they are properly compiled."

An explosion of whispers spread across the Hall, before silence fell and everybody looked eagerly at Dumbledore again.

"Mr. Croaker, if you will?"

Croaker nodded, before stepping forward and beginning to chant under his breath, drawing complex patterns with his wand. The runes around the Goblet's rim started to grow, and the flames rose, spitting and sparkling with more vigour than before. Harry couldn't help but think that the Goblet was eager to revert to its original state, to witness all the bloodlust that it had all those years ago.

The thought did nothing to console him.

After what seemed like an age, Croaker stepped away, and gestured to the three Heads. "Lady, and Gentlemen, if you will?"

As one, all three put their wands into the flame. The silence was palpable, as the flame died immediately, leaving the goblet absolutely bare, its rough wooden inside visible. And then, without warning, a huge green flame burst out, forcing Dumbledore, Karkaroff and Madam Maxime to duck rapidly.

No one dared laugh at the scene, their eyes fixed on the Goblet. The magic in the room was palpable, and even the weakest Witch or Wizard could sense it filling the room.

Harry felt it fill his senses, warming every cell in his body. He watched the flames, a clear, mint green roaring and spitting sparks much more powerfully than before.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," said Dumbledore resignedly, "I give you the original Goblet of the Fire, and the beginning of the Ancient Triwizard Tournament, 1994."

**Author's Note: Folks, so it begins. I hate to say it, but the Legend of Harry Potter is on temporary Hiatus. Files gone, and I don't like where the stories heading. Sorry, but this is all you got now. But this, I have big plans for.**

**Read and Review, as always. Oh, while suggestions for relationships and potential champions are welcome, I would like to say that the PM concerning sister-incest did not go well. Please, I have a sister, so shut up. Some things cross the line. Banging your own sister crosses the line so far that you can't even see the line when you look back! And now that I'm done with that rant, review. As you can see, chapters are shorter here so updates are _relatively_ faster.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 Interviews and Revelations**

"It's going to be a nightmare!" said Bagman, as he landed in the Ministry of Magic with the Potters. All around them, witched and Wizards Portkeyed into the Ministry, courtesy of special Portkeys authorized by Fudge. It was shaping up to be a sleepless night in the British Ministry. "One of the organisers involved with Death Eaters, 4 champions, more to come, an impostor in the host school, 7 tasks instead of 3!"

"Calm down, Ludo!" said James, barely managing a grin, as the Minister of Magic beckoned the Potters forward. Amaryllis had not been allowed to come, much to her chagrin, and Harry was secretly glad. Much to his displeasure, though, Lily seemed to be following him around with puppy-dog eyes, though.

"You don't understand, James! This is a political as well as economic nightmare! Thanks to the attacks after the World Cup, reimbursements cost us a huge chunk of the expected revenue – and the Triwizard Tournament on top of this –"

"That will be enough, Ludo," said a middle aged woman with short hair and a monocle as she strode past them, "Speaking about Ministry matters in public, and in a room full of reporters no less, is probably not your wisest course of action."

Bagman clammed up immediately, but Harry stopped short as he entered the room. It seemed word travelled fast here, the entire room was filled with reporters, and a podium had already been set up – no doubt constructed magically. The entire room seemed to thrum with anticipation – there were so many juicy headlines for tomorrow that the newspapers would have a hard time fitting them all in.

He didn't really listen as Fudge and then Dumbledore went up to make their official statements, even though Dumbledore did receive large amounts of attention from the reporters, thanks to the establishment of the old Tournament once more.

Everyone seemed especially interested about the impostor (Harry had already been pulled aside at Hogwarts by a tall, dark-skinned Auror, and had given his own tiny statement), and gasps and cries of outrage echoed around the room when they heard that both Crouches would be on trial within a few days.

It was past one in the night when everyone got what they had _really_ come for, a chance to see and interview the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry would give anything for the soft comfort of his bed in his dormitory to think things through, but he sighed, even as he was ushered on stage. His family, however, much to their chagrin, were held back as he ascended the stairs to the podium alone – it seemed their turn would come after his.

Silence fell across the hall as everyone saw their saviour for the first time, before whispers and mutters broke out all at once, growing steadily in volume. Harry raised his hand, and everyone fell silent, immediately.

"I recognise, that this is a matter of importance to you reporters," there were sniggers, he was understating things, "but I am sorry to say I will not answer more than – let us say – three questions –"

Immediately, there was uproar, and the Aurors had to send fireworks into the air to quite everyone down.

However, one lone was shouted, "You owe it to us to give us a decent interview!"

Furious at the words, Harry said, "_I owe you?_ If I am not mistaken, it is Magical Britain who owes me a debt, seeing as I ended the worst period in British history for over 500 years! Three questions, or none at all, ladies and gentlemen! My bed at Hogwarts calls to me, and it is already late in the night," not to mention the fact that he was starving.

Grumbling and muttering, the reporters agreed. He picked a fairly young brunette near the front to begin with.

"Gladys Jenners from Witch Weekly, Mr. Potter," she said, immediately. "Let me tell you what an honour it is to be the first to interview after your sudden return to Magical Britain." Harry inclined his head graciously in return, and she continued. "I shall start with the obvious, Mr. Potter –"

"Call me Harry, please," interjected the young wizard, "Mr. Potter is the black-haired man over there who I apparently resemble. There was a chorus of laughter, and several people already began jotting things down on their pads.

"Harry, then – to start with, where were you all these years, and why did you feel the need to run away from home?"

Yes, he'd been expecting this question, he'd been preparing for it a long time. "I was placed in a safe-house in my childhood," he began abruptly, and the journalists at once began scribbling on their pads as one, "whose location I fear I cannot reveal, because it may come in handy once more. As the Boy-Who-Lived, I know that I have many enemies, and a safe haven from them is something I am unwilling to give up. Let it suffice that I was safe," no one seemed to notice that he hadn't added the words happy, or well cared for.

"And when I was a few years older, I was attacked on my way back to school, by none other than Peter Pettigrew," gasps echoed around the hall, "by some lucky accidental magic, I was able to escape, but for the first time, I realised that not only me, but everyone around me, everyone I knew, was in danger." He modulated his voice carefully, playing his emotions properly. "This revelation was too much for me to take in, so one night, I packed up and ran away – deciding that my family would be safer without me –" he ended in a sad, regretful whisper.

Several ladies pulled out their handkerchiefs and dabbed at their eyes. "I ran away to a Muggle Orphanage – again, whose name I cannot reveal, because there are near and dear ones to me there, but I grew up there until it was time for me to attend Hogwarts. Once more, I had to do so in disguise, lest harm come to me, or those around me."

He ended, and watched as they gobbled up every word of his lie. It had been a much harder life for him, but a much more exciting one. Coming across wild animals, talking to snakes, learning the ways of the wild – until he'd finally come across a goblin mine. The rest, was history, for that was the day that he truly took on the mantle of Wizard, Saviour and Prodigy.

In the front row, however, his family and their friends looked at him in open disbelief. Dumbledore, on the other hand, only twinkled his eyes at him, the message he was sending reaching Harry loud and clear, "_Well played."_

Harry paused, before picking another reporter in one corner of the room. "Greg Wilson, Irish Times," said the man, his accent giving him away, "Harry, did you ever think, that through your escapades, you were hurting your family members, instead of protecting them? You have depleted valuable Ministry resources as well, thanks to the worldwide search for you –"

Harry immediately disliked the man, so it was with some spite that he answered. "If I read the papers correctly, it was the Potter family who funded every search for me, Mr. Wilson." The man's cheeks reddened, and his fellow reporters as well as the Ministry workers who were in attendance glared at him.

Harry smirked a bit. How easily influenced these people were, standing up for a boy who they'd never met, who had vanquished the Darkest Wizard ever only by fluke..."And furthermore, I know I hurt my parents, but it was necessary. My parents could eventually get over my absence, and reconcile with the fact that they could never find me, but I could not live with myself if they died because someone attacked me. Pettigrew very nearly got my caretakers, and I will never forget that night – no, better alive and sad then dead – I could not have their lives on my conscience."

"Spoken like a selfless hero!" squeaked out a voice, and Harry couldn't help it. Even as mutters and whispers of agreement broke out, he gave a tiny nod to the wizard who'd one bowed to him in a shop, and the man squeaked in excitement.

Finally, he picked another blonde haired man, simply because he liked the ridiculous yellow robes he was wearing. "Xenophilius Lovegood, the Quibbler," he said, and there were groans around the hall, which the eccentric wizard ignored completely.

"Is it true, Mr. Potter, that you slew a Basilisk in your second year to save my daughters friend, Ms. Weasley? I speak, of course, of the Chamber of Secrets incident –"

More groans, and Harry could hardly blame them, because the public really had no idea of what had happened. The entire matter had been smoothed over by Dumbledore, who had merely released a statement that the culprit had been apprehended, and the school was now safe. Of course, Dumbledore himself did not know that Liam had descended to the bowels of the school to save Ginny Weasley – however, the Headmaster's bird had still seemed to find him in the Chamber and save him.

He shivered a bit, as he remembered how that night could've ended with his death.

"_Fawkes," whispered twelve-year old Harry, as he somehow tottered to his feat, "you must take the girl and go, now, I'll find my own way out." He was rapidly flickering between forms, his magic no longer strong enough to fuel the enchantments the Goblins had placed on him._

_The Phoenix trilled in concern, but he shook his head, "Go, now! No one must know!"_

_Another low, musical trill, and the Phoenix bowed it's head before grabbing Ginny and the Sorting Hat, and disappearing in a ball of flames._

_Harry shuddered, before his core gave out, and he collapsed back to the floor unconscious. Next to him, Godric Gryffindor's sword glowed silver for a moment, before it vanished into thin air._

_It would be the following afternoon that Harry would stumble out into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, shaking with hunger and exhaustion._

Might as well go for intimidation, present Harry thought – "Yes," he said simply, and everyone was struck dumb.

"Surely you jest?" spoke out a lone voice, but Harry shook his head with a smirk. Closing his eyes, he concentrated.

A second...then two...he felt the familiar heavy feeling in his hand, and the gasps and exclamations echoed around the Hall as Gryffindor's sword appeared in his hand. "I imagine you'll find Basilisk venom if you check this sword carefully –" he said, enjoying the look on each and every one of their faces.

"Yes, it's true, and should you manage to open the entrance to the Chamber in the second floor girl's bathroom, you can go down there and find the carcass of the Basilisk."

Gasps rang out again, but Madam Bones stepped forward this time. "Perhaps we should look into this matter," she said. "If what you speak of is indeed true, then I would like you to take me an a contingent of Aurors down to the Chamber."

Harry nodded. Credibility was his, too. "Perhaps this Sunday shall be fine?" asked Dumbledore, from his seat. "I must confess myself curious," he said, "even more so, as how you managed to carry out such a feat under my nose..."

Laughter rang out, but Harry said, "With all due respect, Sir, I remember you being sacked at that time –"

Several people in the room shifted uneasily in their seats. Madam Bones reached out to take the sword with something akin to awe on her face, carefully avoiding touching the blade. She smiled gratefully as Dumbledore waved his wand and a glass case formed around the weapon, and every eye in the Hall was drawn to it as she sat down.

"Incredible," breathed someone from the Hall, and murmurs of agreement spread across the Hall. "I think you'll be pleased to know, Mr. Potter, that you are only the third person in recorded history to slay a Basilisk," said a reporter, "and the only underage one to do so, I must say. Any more deeds to confess too?"

The reporters were almost burning trails into their paper, they were scribbling so hard.

"Ah, but that would count as the fourth question!" said Harry with a laugh, and there were groans of disappointment around the room. "At least give us some trivia!" yelled a person from the back.

He thought for a moment. "I can accept that," he said, with a small smile.

And off they went.

**HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP**

It was past three by the time they reached school, and Harry had finally managed to put a stop to his interview after a witch had cheekily asked him if he liked boxers and briefs.

Dumbledore had volunteered to take Harry back while the elder Potters put in their final words, and now the Headmaster and Harry were walking side by side back up to the Main Doors of the Castle.

"Beautiful at night, isn't it, Harry?" said the old man, referring to the Castle in front of them, bathed in moonlight. "Lemon Drop?"

Harry was so hungry, he nodded his head out of sheer desperation. "Ah!" said the Headmaster, evidently delighted. "The first in many years to accept!"

Harry took the offered sweet and eyed it for a second, "Don't worry," said the Headmaster with a small laugh, "despite what legend says, I don't spike them with truth potions, amortentia, compulsion charms, or the like. Go ahead!"

Harry complied, and sucked quietly on the bittersweet candy as he walked side by side with the Headmaster in silence. "I must thank you, Harry," said the old man, suddenly, "for saving my school when I was not there to."

"No matter, sir," said Harry, not wanting any of the praise, and Dumbledore seemed to understand.

"We'll have to arrange special awards for services to the school, though," Dumbledore said. "Professor Snape will be delighted!"

The man's buoyancy was now getting on Harry's nerves, so he just kept quiet, settling for a nod.

"I'm thankful it's a Saturday, though," said the old man heavily. "I have a long day ahead – and I think you do too."

"Indeed, sir," said Harry testily.

"Ah, I forget!" said Dumbledore. "You must be dead on your feet, Harry! Let us hasten to your Common room, then, so I can drop you off and be on my way, where my own bed lies in bed."

"Thanks, Sir," said Harry, with a bit of relief. He was still extremely grateful, that the Headmaster had not brought the matter of his parents up.

They made a strange duo, young and old, walking through the corridors at night, until they reached the Dungeons. "I must ask one final question, Harry," said the old man, as he turned to face him, "my friend Nicholas was most surprised when he was one day mailed one of his own, most priceless creations by owl in June '92. Could you shed some light on it, and on the disappearance of my Defence Teacher?"

Harry sighed, before he pulled out his wand. Putting the tip to his forehead, he pulled out a thin blue strand.

Understanding immediately, Dumbledore produced a vial out of thin air, and Harry put the memory into it. Instead of being surprised at his power, though, Dumbledore seemed delighted.

"Bravo, Harry!" he said, smiling widely, "Memory extraction, a handy skill indeed!"

Harry nodded, while he muttered the password to open up the common room.

"Even though I have the show, Harry, it seems I don't have the dinner to go with it," said the old man, before Harry made his way inside. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to have a light supper with me tomorrow night, and we can see the contents of this memory together? Just you and me," he added, making no extra remarks, when Harry hestitated.

And for some reason, Harry found himself agreeing.

**HPHPHPHPHPHPHP**

The Common Room was bare when he entered, and he made a beeline for his room at once. One good thing about the Snakes was that they believed in both Privacy and Luxury. The Dormitory was huge, much bigger on the inside than the outside, and lay below the lake as well – providing a source of endless excitement if you were lucky enough to stare outside the window – and each student was given his own room.

The mellow green colour around him soothed his tired eyes as he stumbled up to his room, and threw the door open. Making sure to lock and then charm the door behind him – one of the first lessons of the so-called 'Snake Pit', he pulled out a box of Chocolate Frogs from underneath his bed, and set upon them like a man possessed.

He was dreading the following morning, where he would no doubt be truly confronted by both his housemates and the entire school for the first time.

_At least,_ he thought, _they won't blame me for cheating my way into the Tournament, thank Moody for that._

And he was fast asleep in seconds.

**HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP**

"_You're pathetic, weak!" said Vernon, as little Harry Potter cowered inside the cupboard. "I won't have a freak like you sully my house..."_

_..._

"_Stand aside, girl, stand aside, and I might just save you –"_

_But Lily Potter had her wand, and she was going down fighting. Flashes and bangs, and then she was on the floor as well, twitching and clawing herself in pain as the Dark Lord used the Cruciatus on her._

_With another flick of his wand, she was immobilised on the floor._

"_Watch, now, Mudblood, as I kill your son before your eyes," hissed the Dark Lord, the pleasure evident in his voice. And Lily Potter watched, unable to do anything, eyes wide in horror, as Voldemort raised his wand._

_At the same moment, James barrelled into the room, barely managing to keep standing, "Avada-" he started, in extreme desperation._

_With another sharp flick, James was pinned to the wall, similarly neutralised. _

_Both parents watched in horror as Voldemort turned and brought his wand down with a flourish, "Avada Kedavra!"_

"_NOOOOOO!" with a burst of raw power, the sort that Muggle mothers use to lift fallen trees off their children, Lily broke free of the spell and made a dive before Harry. Voldemort's eyes widened in surprise, but it was to no avail. She missed, and the spell flew over her -_

_And there was light, green light everywhere...and a hooded figure on the train, sucking out his happiness, exposing his _weakness_ for the whole world to see. And there were hooded figures everywhere in the school, leeching off him the entire year._

_And suddenly, as he was walking to Herbology, he was attacked by one, and this time, Dumbledore wasn't around, taking his usual Friday evening stroll in the lawns._

_Closer, the cold crept closer and closer, just as the green light flew closer and closer, and the hood lifted and the Dementor clamped onto him._

Harry woke up, gasping for breath, the scream dying in his throat. It was minutes before his heartbeat settled, and he immediately reached out for his wand on the bedside.

Concentrating hard, harder than he ever had, on the happiest thoughts he could muster, he whispered, "Expecto Patronum!"

And he watched frustrated, as only weak mist emerged from his wand.

He had to wait another half hour to fall asleep after that, and it was late when he woke the next morning, as a result.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Re-posted chapter, with a summary, so you know what you're in for. **

**Summary: When Liam Carpenter began his fourth year at Hogwarts, he didn't expect to be participating in a legendary tournament, not least one that would be modified to be even more dangerous. He certainly didn't expect people to find out that he was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. And he _did_ expect that he would walk the path to greatness alone, however much it hurt, but he did _not_ factor in a little sister who's determined to knock some sense into him, and who is _too_ hyperactive for her own good...**

**When Albus Dumbledore took up the Elder Wand so many years ago, he thought that he'd finally be able to change the world, for the better. Yet, nearly fifty years after he defeated Grindelwald, he found himself at the helm of a country which never managed to recover from a War, a country riddled with prejudice and corruption. But the Wand tells him different, never mind that he knows that it's eating away at his psyche...**

**Darkness looms over the horizon as the prelude to the Second Wizarding War begins, a tale filled with betrayal, lies, drama, anger and pain. Will Harry, in his misguided belief that he is truly alone, fall to the same darkness that had taken the Dark Lord so many years ago, or will Dumbledore fall prey to the seduction of the Deathstick first, despite his best attempts at resistance?**

**Magic, Rituals, Secrets, Weapons, Discoveries, Creatures, and worst of all...the prospect of a date to the Yule Ball. Welcome to the world of Harry Potter.**

**Chapter 5: Alone**

He awoke groggily, casting a Tempus and squinting to see what time it was. His eyes widened as he read 10:13 a.m., and he fairly ran out of bed, still in his crumpled robes from the day before. He had no time to change; he was already late for class!

Halfway through lifting the charms on his doors, he realised that it was Saturday, and there was no school. Sighing in relief, he sagged back on the bed, stretching lithely. Taking a change of clothes and his toothbrush, he lazily made his way out towards the fourth year bathrooms. A long shower later, he descended to the common room, his mind still on the events of the day before –

Only to find himself face to face with the entire Slytherin House.

He sighed. Of course, this was inevitable.

The silence stretched out for a long moment, and Harry finally asked, "Can I be of any help to you, ladies and gentlemen?"

In reply, Marcus Flint, Quidditch Captain, threw a Daily Prophet at him. The elder Slytherin raised his eyebrows as Harry nonchalantly snatched it out of the air without even a second glance.

Opening it, Harry immediately saw a full page photo of him on the paper, with the Headline – "Return of The Hero – Harry Potter Alive!"

Wincing at his photo, which in turn was wincing right back at him, he opened to the next page, with another photo of the sword of Gryffindor. Ignoring it, he began reading the article instead.

He raised his eyebrows as he went further down the page. His idea had paid off – he had been shown as a brave child who hadn't managed to cope with the pressure of being hunted, and had vanished to try and protect his family. While not the best choice, the paper lauded him for thinking of others before him, blowing his valour out of proportion.

There was also an article about him being the Fourth Champion, and the changes it would mean for the Tournament. And next to the sword, there was another paragraph –

His eyebrows shot into his hair.

_Indeed, if the tales are to be true – and what less can we really expect from the only person to ever survive the Killing Curse, Potter pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat. While investigation into this matter is ongoing, and the Prophet promises to keep you going, we at the prophet cannot wait to see what this young Wizard has in store for us. While cynics remain unconvinced, Mr. Potter was able to give an accurate description of the serpent, and furthermore, call upon the sword of Gryffindor (bottom right) at will. Also, as he had said, the sword indeed carried traces of Basilisk venom, less than 2 years old – which coincides with his tale._

_This reporter, however, is questioning what Mr. Potter is doing in the house of serpents at Hogwarts, if he indeed did kill the King of Snakes in his second year? Of course, the old maxim of "hide in plain sight" can be called into play – after all, who would expect Harry Potter to be in the very house You-Know-Who himself had been in, and is notorious for producing Dark Wizards every generation. As a former Gryffindor, and an ardent fan of the Boy-Who-Lived, would it be too much to ask for a resorting?_

He looked up, sighing. Lucas Carrow narrowed his eyes, "Well, Potter? The Snakes not good enough for you?"

"That's not written anywhere here. I have no loyalty to any house here," was the calm reply.

Hissing and whispers filled the Common Room, but Harry simply shook his head. "I stand before all of you as the Boy-Who-Lived," he said, "already one of the most influential wizards of the generation. You speak to me now, but what about when I was Liam Carpenter?" he asked. "I was shunned by my house, even though we were told to put up and united front. That led to me being ostracized by the entire school – if you've noticed, I have no friends."

Some of the students looked mildly ashamed, but the rest wore stoic expressions. "Why hide yourself?" asked a seventh-year Prefect, whose name eluded him. "What is the real reason? Surely, if you were noble enough to save a pathetic Blood-Traitor from a Basilisk, and to hide to try and save your family, why not be in Gryffindor?"

"The same reason most of you aren't there – I am ambitious, I confess. The Hat told me Slytherin would lead me on the path to greatness, and that was an offer I could not pass up. Besides, I had certain..._talents,_ that made me ideal for Salazar's house."

"Yet you stopped Salazar's work! You should have stood aside and let the Heir finish of all the Mudbloods and filth, but you killed the King of Serpents!" Lazarus Carrow almost screamed in anger, his veins popping. "You're a half-blood, but you come from one of the oldest lines of Britain! Surely you know of the importance of blood!"

"No, I don't, actually," Harry said coolly. "Blood has no meaning to me."

"You dare go against Salazar's teachings?"

"Nowhere in history is it written that Salazar was a Pureblood Supremacist. It has merely been said that he did not want Muggleborns to attend Hogwarts. Maybe he left Hogwarts himself to isolate and teach the Muggleborns magic!"

"Why you little piece of shit!"

Harry's wand was out and pointed at Carrow in a flash, and the older boy suddenly found himself wary. Liam Carpenter had been exceptionally good in studies, but Potter here was a wildcard – no one knew his true strength.

"At the time Hogwarts was founded, Muggleborns had to face intense persecution from all societies – Muggles, because of their Magic, and Wizards, because they were identified as Muggle supporters to the narrow minded Purebloods. There are theories that Salazar sought to isolate them to protect them from both parties, but alas, no one pays them much heed."

Harry was surprised to see some people actually look thoughtful at his words, and not for the first time since last night, he began to realise how common people looked up to celebrities.

"You lie!" said Draco Malfoy. "You have no proof!"

"And neither do you!"

"Of course I do! The greatest wizard from our house –"

Harry cut him off. "You mean Lord Voldemort?"

"_You dare speak his name?!" _hissed Carrow, losing control and sending a stunner at Harry. Calmly, he put up a shield and deflected it away from him, the spellfire lighting up the room.

"Yes, I dare. I've earned the right, don't you think? And Malfoy, as to your question, you're sorely mistaken. The greatest Wizard from Slytherin house was a supporter of Muggleborn rights, and in fact, he wasn't even a half-blood, he was a half-breed. Born of the last line of Incubi and a Muggle Woman –"

"_Merlin," _breathed Tracey Davis, from her corner of the room, flushing slightly when his eyes ran over her.

"Indeed," said Harry, "think on that. And if you can, look up the First and Second World Wars. Slytherins are meant to appreciate power – perhaps that will open your eyes to the power Muggles wield."

And he walked smartly past the crowd, leaving them all with something to think about.

And yet many in the crowd swore to take revenge against him for defiling their house.

**HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP**

He already knew the day was going to get worse. Hedwig, his beloved owl, was short with him in the library, when he sent a letter to the Prophet – a rather long one. Despite what he had said, he had always been a great fan of Merlin, or old man Emrys, as the Goblins called him – and he was truly proud to be part of his legacy.

Rain was beginning to fall when he made his way back to the Castle. His temper was already short from Breakfast – even though he'd arrived late, plenty of people pointed at him and whispered incessantly. Thankfully, none of them had made an effort to speak to him, or else he was sure he'd grow curse-happy.

He was just going to enter the clock tower when a severe looking Owl descended. Recognizing a letter from Gringotts, he eagerly took it from the bird. Perhaps his master would have some words of advice...

He was rather stunned when he saw an empty sheet of parchment, though. A moment later, the parchment glowed blue, and he found himself being pulled through a vortex of time and space.

He was deposited roughly on the cold floor of a chamber – he had not been expecting the Portkey. Standing up, he saw rough stone walls around him, lit by torches. He was in the mines, he realised. And standing before him, looking livid, was Strongarm.

"_What_ have you done?" hissed the Goblin in anger, his eyes burning.

"What?" asked Harry, confused, and hurt at the way his master was acting.

"THE SWORD!" shouted Strongarm. "Ragnuk's Sword! You gave it away to the Ministry!"

"Gryffindor's sword?" asked Harry, bemused.

A hand came sharply down, slapping him across the cheeks. Touching his face disbelievingly, he looked up at his master in horror.

"Don't play dumb with me, Harry! I told you great tales of the sword, and what it means to us – that it was stolen by arrogant Wizarding thieves, and never returned to us!"

Harry's heart sank. Of course, he had forgotten. The sword was Goblin-made, the only remaining work forged by Ragnuk, the greatest Smith and first Monarch of the Goblins. Strongarm had said many times how thieving Wizards had only promised they'd borrow it, and ended up hiding it from the Goblins.

"How dare you betray us like that, after all we've done for you?! We took you in, when you were freezing pathetically that winter! We taught you, raised you, made you what you are today! And yet you dishonour us like this! You give that sword away like it was yours to give, like it was yours to begin with! And now those filthy wizards will never give it back, and the greatest treasure of my house will be lost!"

_Of course, _thought Harry. _Strongarm and his son were the last living descendants of Ragnuk's line._

"Master, please," he begged, "I can get it back-"

Another slap, and this time, his eyes teared up, not from the blow, but from Strongarm's words. "YOU ARE NO APPRENTICE OF MINE, ANYMORE! From this moment onwards, I break all ties with you, Harry Goblin-enemy. The news of your betrayal will spread through all of the Goblin Nation, and we will forever spit upon you and your line!"

All the anger seemed to be seeping out of the Goblin, and this time, his voice was a broken whisper. "Why, Harry? After all we went through together, why would you do this to us?"

"Master, please," begged Harry, and indeed, he truly was sorry. He'd merely been feeling cocky last night, and had called the sword to him on instinct. Out of desperation, he held his hand out like before, and concentrated with all his mind. He screwed up his eyes, brows furrowing, tears leaking down his face, but nothing came.

"It is no use," said Strongarm gravely, recognizing his efforts. "Even as we speak, Wizards study that sword, breaking all Goblin enchantments on it, so it can never return to us. A grave blow you have dealt to us today, and for that, I renounce you, now and forever, Harry James Potter."

The words had a ringing finality to them, and Harry suddenly felt a hollow sensation in his chest, like something had gone missing.

Tears falling fast and thick now, he whispered, "Please, Strongarm – you're the only fam-"

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT, TRAITOR!" and he turned to see Brighteye walk into the room, looking livid, his grey eyes that made his so famous among the goblins on fire. "YOU HAVE NO FAMILY! YOU ARE ALONE, AND THAT IS ALL YOU'LL EVER BE, AND THAT IS HOW YOU'LL DIE! I CURSE YOU, HARRY POTTER!"

The words struck him like a brick wall, and even his tears ceased, as he could only look on in helpless shock. Brighteye raised his fist, and Harry lowered his eyes, but he looked up to see his hand wavering in the air, tears in his eyes.

"Brother- please –"

The fist descended, and he felt blood fill his mouth."You are no brother of mine! Begone, Harry Potter, and bring misfortune elsewhere. Out into the world I cast you, as alone as the day we found you! May your gold dry up and fade away, and may your enemies best you at every turn! Never darken our doorstep again!"

And with that last, and worst curse, Harry felt another pull on his navel.

Opening his eyes when he'd stopped reeling, he found that he was on the steps of Gringotts in Diagon Alley. The Goblins' last parting shot – leaving him deserted here.

He stood up, tears still blinding his vision. He felt none of the confidence he had before, none of the power he felt he'd wielded. Walking unsteadily and blindly about, his jaw pounding, he made his way over to the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom was delighted to see him, "Young Carpenter!" he said, "Or is it Potter now? All this time –" the barkeep stopped short as he took in Harry's bruised jaw and dishevelled state. Liam or Harry, he'd grown quite fond of the boy after he'd spent summers working at Diagon Alley and learning from all the shopkeepers, and he could clearly see that the boy had been in trouble.

"Floo," croaked Harry thickly, not wanting to talk. Sensing this, Tom handed over the pot without any comment. "Do write or visit sometime, Harry," he said, "All the shopkeepers at Diagon Alley talk about Liam, even old Steven. You're not alone, y'know?"

"Oh, but _he is!_" hissed a voice behind him. He turned to see a hag in a veil, her leer still visible. Her voice changed dropping to a visitor. "_Betrayal..._" she whispered. _"It has begun, and more looms over the horizon. Alone, he shall stand, he shall..."_

Feeling sick to the core, unable to take anymore, Harry jumped into the Floo, to end up at the Hog's Head and make his way back into the school through the Honeydukes Passage.

And as green flames rushed up to meet him, he couldn't shake the words out of his head. _"Alone..."_

**Author's Note: Any objections to Ragnuk's spelling will be disregarded. Ragnok was a modern goblin, Ragnuk was the first monarch and forger of Gryffindor's sword.**

******A/N Edit: Oh for Lord's Sakes, people! Harry Potter is my favourite character, and I'm not about to let him be all alone. This is just one chapter, out of an entire lot. _One_ chapter. In fact, I'll post a longer summary, so you know what you're in for. This chapter, as well as the first.**


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